


Worth It

by AmISam



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 15:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12634191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmISam/pseuds/AmISam
Summary: The “fix-it” to Hawkwood’s questline that doesn't actually fix anything and just involves the Ashen One kicking his ass and getting rid of that stupid Dragon Stone.





	Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> [I had this posted here a while ago, but took it down because I wasn't happy with it. I've changed it up since then so I'm reposting it.]
> 
> I really liked Hawkwood, but the ending of his questline kinda bugged me, since I really had no interest in keeping a rock that just turned me into a fire-breathing reptilian deer. So this fic was written to make the ending a little more satisfying (for me at least). Enjoy!

The swordgrass remained crumpled in the gauntleted palm holding her shield the entire trip to the mausoleum. With the bonfire there inactive, Annika was forced to approach from a point farther back - meaning she had to trudge through the cursed swamp she’d long thought to have seen the last of. While it wasn’t a challenge for her - she’d felled near god-like figures; a couple mad beasts were naught but inconveniences to her at this point - the trip wasn’t doing much for her already sour mood.

The scent of the poisoned bog squelching about her shins stung her nose and brought back the unpleasant memory of the first time she’s made this trek. She remembered flinching at every sound, hiding behind her meager wooden shield, and feebly swinging a broken sword. Now here she was, sword and shield practically moving of their own accord with familiar motions ingrained into the muscles of her arms. There was no fear in her, not after everything she’d seen.

The wail of a ghru slain by her blade brought Annika back from her thoughts. She was close now, and in the distance she saw the shapes of the two darkwraiths forever caught in their fight to the mausoleum. It was almost funny, did they even know the Lords they sought were long gone?

She let them handle the handful of ghru, watching as they mercilessly cut down the screaming beasts. Lidded eyes followed their forms, taking in their savage and cruel motions. Once, she had scorned such heartlessness. Now, she had to acknowledge she was no different from them. The kind knight she had awoken as in the cemetery so long ago was gone, and while she didn't know if she was alright with that, there were some changes you couldn’t undo.

The darkwraiths didn't see her coming, too caught up in their own world. She moved slowly, armor making only the slightest of sounds as she walked, and raised her sword to the nearest of the two. Frost crackled on the weapon’s surface, and for a moment she was lost in its curved and twisted blade. It and her shield were her constant and only companions now, the only things in this forsaken land she could rely on. Gone were the days of her comrades and fellow knights, when she could count on another having her back.

The darkwraith exhaled, shifting, and she came back to her senses. Now was not the time to reminisce. With ease, the sword slid between the cracks in the wraith’s warped armor and found what was left of their heart. They let out a surprised gurgle as they died and Annika shoved them away so she could turn to their companion. They were fully aware of her now, but that wouldn't save them. She cut them down as easily as any other foe and continued on her way. The mausoleum was right there, great stone doors open and waiting, as if they were inviting her inside.

Annika strode towards them, feeling an uneasy fist curl around her stomach. There was pain mixed in with the sharp sting of betrayal, but she squashed it down. Former friend or not, she would deal with this in the same manner she did everything else - quickly and efficiently. The swordgrass was burning in her palm now, hot even through the heavy leather.

His figure was clear in the mausoleum’s center, easily seen as Annika mounted the steps. She idly wondered how long he’d been waiting.

Annika offered no words as she approached, having nothing to say, and he took the chance to speak. 

“I should have known. Well, I've decided to stop running from my fate. Loathe me all you like, I shall take what makes you dragon." She noted something off in his voice. It sounded coarser, harsher.

She touched the pouch at her hip, the one carrying the dragon stone she'd retrieved from the peak. It was useless to her - the dragons did nothing to intrigue her - but based on the way Hawkwood was drawing his sword she would not have a chance to just hand the blasted thing to him.

Was he really willing to fight her for it? She had killed Lords of Cinder and yet he thought himself capable of taking her on, just for some bloody rock? Annika scowled, and reached to pull her helm off. If she was going to fight him, she would look him in the face as she did so. It fell to the ground with a clank, and Annika met Hawkwood’s gaze with a hot glare. It was then that she noticed he was not using the weapon she’d seen him wearing at the shrine. Instead, perhaps to signify his refusal to “stop running”, he was holding the Farron Greatsword, complete with the parry dagger that went with. Did he intend to fight her as a member of the Legion he’d once deserted? Quaint.

He didn’t hesitate to come after her right away, and she readied herself, taking a slow inhale to prepare for his first strike. He brought the heavy greatsword down in a mighty swing that might have once knocked her over and ended the fight. But now, it only glanced off her shield, sending sparks flying as the metals skidded against one another. Not a breath later he was bringing it down again with equal force. The impact jarred her shoulder, sending dull spikes of pain shooting up her arm, but it was not unbearable. Annika had known far worse pain. She dove to the side, the milkring briefly turning her into a mass of dusty smoke, before righting herself and moving in for a strike. She slashed at his ribs, but found she had overestimated the distance of her roll and only succeeded in cutting through the top layer of fabric.

With a curse, she danced backwards as he came at her again, trying to stay out of range while also looking for openings to attack. Sharp eyes analyzed his attacking, watching the way he moved and swung at her. She had to give him some credit - he fought just like an Abyss Watcher, all flair and speed - even with that huge greatsword - but she was noting the attacks lacked the sheer force of the Watchers. It seemed as though his time in the Shrine had left Hawkwood a little rusty, and Annika fully intended to take advantage of that.

The former knight became a dusty blur - always out of Hawkwood’s reach no matter how he tried to attack her. And inevitably, he began to tire. The greatsword came down slower, with less power, and Annika saw her chance.

She stepped forward, leaving specks of frost floating through the air as she swiped at him. The blow connected this time, carving through his shoulder and drawing blood. He growled, teeth bared, while Annika moved back. His counterattack, while fueled by pain, was still pitifully easy to dodge.

She let him try for another few hits, stepping away from each one, before she decided to go in on the offensive and end this.

All it took was a well-placed swipe to his leg to win her the fight. Hawkwood tumbled to his back, his blades skittering across the pavement away from him. Panting, he looked up at Annika, who loomed over him with her sword to his neck. One quick strike and it would be over. His eyes shut, waiting for the end.

But when Annika willed her arm to move, she found it would not. Unbidden, her mind brought forth the memories of their chats in the Shrine. However brief they’d been, they had made her feel a little more human - sitting next to someone who didn’t buy into the tremendous unexplained duty assigned to the Undead. His strange, sardonic laugh echoed faintly in her ears as she looked down at his form below her. At her pause, Hawkwood dared to open his eyes, brows creasing when he saw the studying look she was giving him.

As much as she loathed to admit it, Annika realized she couldn't kill him. She hated him, that was for sure, but there was a part of her that didn’t wish to spill further blood, especially over such a petty matter. She reached into her pouch and withdrew the dragon stone. For a moment she stared at the strange thing, wondering how a simple stone could have caused this whole affair. It disgusted her to even hold it. 

She gritted her teeth and threw it to the ground beside him, listening to it clatter against the pavement. Annika retracted her blade, breaking her usual silence to hiss, “I hope it's worth it.” 

Then she turned and strode to where her helmet sat. Hawkwood laid there, propped up on his elbows, watching her carefully as she retrieved the discarded helm. When it was once more fitted upon her head, concealing her features, Annika walked past him towards the bonfire, leaving him alone in the mausoleum with his prize.


End file.
